


I Don't Mind, If You Don't Mind

by raineraine



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Peter Parker, Confessions, Everyone Is Gay, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fic Exchange, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Marvel Universe, Marvel-ous Holiday Fic Exchange, Mutual Pining, Protective Tony Stark, Shopping, Shopping Malls, Spideypool - Freeform, Superfamily, Tony Stark Is An Overprotective Dad, Wade Wilson Has Terrible Fashion Sense, christmas break, fake boyfriends, m/m - Freeform, superdads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: “This is never going to work.”“You say that now, sweetcheeks, but you haven’t let them be dazzled by my charm yet!”Or, how Peter ended up bringing his not-boyfriend of a roommate home to meet his dads.





	I Don't Mind, If You Don't Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadly_nightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadly_nightshade/gifts).



> This is a gift for deadly_nightshade for the Marvel-ous Holiday Fic Exchange. 
> 
> I don’t generally write much in the way of “fluff,” but that’s exactly what happened when I took up this AU prompt of “Fake boyfriends, bringing him home for the holidays.” Superfamily and Superdads are my headcanon to end all headcanons, so that dynamic had to slip in among the cute holiday fun. 
> 
> The title comes from The Killers song “Read My Mind.” 
> 
> Thank you to h34rt1lly for being my beta, even on a pairing you don’t read/write. <3

Peter paced his dorm, hands fisting his hair in frustration. Why had on earth did he say he had a date to bring to the family Christmas party? _To avoid being set up with Sharon Carter._ Not only agreed, but drug someone else into the lie.

“You say that now, sweetcheeks, but you haven’t let them be dazzled by my charm yet!” Wade spread further out on Peter’s bed, rolling to one side and striking a seductive pose.

Peter rubbed his temples and sat next to Wade’s feet. “It’s not too late to back out. You don’t have to come.”

This conversation had been on repeat for three weeks, which should have been ample time for Peter to warm up to the idea as much as his partner-in-crime had. It probably took Wade three seconds, come to think of it. After yet another terse phone call about the traditional Christmas party, Tony had heard a voice in the background— complete with pounding on Peter’s door. When his dad had asked who it was, a still-flustered Peter said the first thing he could think of while throwing open the door in order to get Wade to stop singing in the hallway.

“My boyfriend” was, in retrospect, not his best choice.

Tony didn’t judge. He’d said more times over the years than Peter could count that he himself had made too many mistakes to lecture over much of anything. That, and he had married Steve when Peter was four. The crucial error of sarcastically answering that he had a boyfriend, Peter had discovered moments after he said it, was that both of his dads wanted to meet the guy.  
  
The guy in question was Wade Wilson, Peter’s roommate in Burdett Avenue Residence Hall. Paired together for the academic year in only 182 square feet, you have two choices: befriend your roommate, or ignore them. Wade often took his job of becoming Peter’s new friend a little too seriously. The list of stunts included: ordering enough pizza to feed them both the entire first month they lived together, pulling the fire alarm in the only building without cameras the day Peter only got 3 hours of sleep before his midterm (causing a reschedule), and more recently… enthusiastically agreeing to pose as Peter’s boyfriend for a week.

Wade was the least likely match for Peter on paper, fake romance or not. Although they’d both landed at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, three hours away from New York City, that’s where the commonalities stopped. Peter was double majoring in Materials Engineering and Chemical Biology, while Wade was majoring in Cognitive Science with a minor in Philosophy. While Peter was reserved, Wade was assertive. Wade Wilson was probably voted most likely to set fire to the dorm kitchen at 2am by trying to toast Cheetos over the gas burners in high school.

None of that stopped Wade from tugging on the string of Peter’s hoodie, that single dimple carving its way onto his face as he smirked. “Like I would leave you alone to disappoint your dads, or have someone make eyes at you and that girl you’re avoiding.” Swinging off of Peter’s bed, Wade took the four steps to his own and slung his backpack over a shoulder. “The only thing you haven’t told me is what I’m supposed to wear to this week-long affair.” Gesturing at his near-empty half of the closet, Wade raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think Tony fucking Stark is going to be impressed by my hoodies and jeans.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh. Wade was the only person he knew who had a mouth worse than his father. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.” Skimming his fingers over Wade’s clothes, Peter bit back a sigh. “I don’t think ‘take your fake boyfriend shopping’ is what my dad had in mind when he gave me a credit card, but if you’re that worried, we’ll stop on the way—”

Wade was skipping out the door before Peter could get out “there.”  
  


* * *

 

  
“Why have you never let me ride in your car before?”

“Get your feet off the dash!” Peter chided, changing lanes as they zipped onto the freeway. “Maybe this is why I haven’t!”

“You could have just said ‘because everything is within walking distance’ and let it at that, shit Pete,” Wade groaned as his feet hit the floor mat. “Man owns a 2017 Hellcat and doesn’t want to show it off, doesn’t seem right.”

Peter rubbed his neck, not taking his eyes off of the road as he navigated into the carpool lane. “My dad wanted to buy me an R8, and I quote, ‘to match his.’ Thankfully Steve talked him out of it.” Tightening his grip on the steering wheel with one hand, he flicked the seat warmers with the other. “The Hellcat was our compromise. I’m probably the only college freshman who complained about being bought a car for graduation. I don’t… Look, I didn’t want to seem like I was something I’m not.”

Wade barked out a laugh, eyes scanning the dashboard. “Like a spoiled rich kid? You’re Tony Stark’s son, I knew that was a risk when I got a letter saying my roommate’s name was STARK, PETER P. Still don’t know what the P stands for, but that’s beside the point.”

“Parker,” Peter answered distractedly as he flipped through the Sirius XM offerings before sighing in frustration. “Put on whatever you want, I don’t drive in silence.”

Wade dug his phone out of his pocket, quiet while he synched the bluetooth. “For the record, Peter, you’re the furthest thing from a spoiled rich kid.” Without leaving room for awkward silence, Wade tapped a song on his screen, causing a hard beat to erupt from the speakers. “I LOVE THIS SONG!”

 

_Y'all gon' make me lose my mind_

_Up in here, up in here_

_Y'all gon' make me go all out_

_Up in here, up in here_

_Y'all gon' make me act a FOOL_

_Up in here, up in here_

_Y'all gon' make me lose my cool_

_Up in here, up in here_

 

Peter couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head at Wade’s taste in music. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Nothing should have surprised Peter anymore, not when it came to Wade Wilson, but this was above and beyond. _Another check-mark in the ‘Ways We Couldn’t Be More Different’ list,_ Peter thought to himself. DMX, as it turned out, was just the beginning of Wade’s playlist.

Three solid hours of 90s music, which Wade proudly declared ‘didn’t even scratch the surface,’ kept them company for the drive.

 

* * *

 

Shopping in New York City had never been a peaceful experience at any point in Peter’s memory. Add in Wade’s enthusiasm for, well, _everything,_ and it became the perfect storm of anxiety-inducing atmosphere. “You can’t possibly convince me you’re from here,” Pete bemoaned as Wade drug him into Express.

“I grew up broke, fucking sue me for being excited!” Wade chirped as he let go of Peter’s hand in favor of examining a mannequin.

“Why is your face so close to the pants?” A flush had crept into Peter’s cheeks as Wade circled the display, crouching to examine everything at an alarmingly-close range.

“Have to see if they make these anatomically correct. How else are you supposed to know if things will fit like this?”

“For the love of all that is sacred, you try them on!”

The trip continued like this for two hours, with Peter tripping over himself trying to keep up with Wade’s speed through each store, and his credit card purchases looking more questionable by the minute. Although Peter managed to talk Wade out of a holographic-sequin skirt, the green-plaid kilt ended up on the counter at the register. He couldn’t explain how a grey jacket that had appeared innocent when Wade held it up turned out to have pink brocade lining, nor where the pants that looked suspiciously similar to Beetlejuice’s suit had come from.

An embarrassing amount of dollars that he could only hope Tony wouldn’t question later, Peter waited outside the bathroom for Wade to change. He could count at least fifteen shopping bags between his hands, and Wade had taken off with somewhere in the realm of four to six more. Clothes for a week must have meant something different to Wade than it did it Peter.

Appropriate “meet the parents” clothing did too.

Strutting out of the bathroom in those damn Beetlejuice pants (Peter was never going to let that go) that were rolled at the ankle to showcase socks adorned with rubber ducks, Wade twirled on one heel before winking in Peter’s direction. The green tweed and brown leather ankle boots from Taft looked like they belonged somewhere else, or on _someone_ else. The plain black button-down was Peter’s only blessing, topped with a denim jacket that sported leather patches on the elbows.

For all the strange mish-mashing, the smile on Wade’s face as he shimmied circles around Peter made any objections die in his throat.  
  
“C’mon! I have dads to impress!” Wade crowed.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, people actually live here?” Leaning further out the window, Wade let out a low whistle as Peter pressed a hand to the identification pad. When the door opened to an underground garage, he yelped, narrowly missing getting hit in the head by the door as it closed behind them. “You could have warned me!”

“And miss you sounding like a poodle?” Peter snickered. Easing the car to a stop, he killed the engine and beckoned towards the door. “C’mon, we’re late enough.”

“How the fuck can you be late to your own house?” Wade needled in mock-exasperation, opening the trunk. “What about the bags?”

“I did not think this shopping thing through,” Peter admitted. “Sneak it in later?”

“Past the fifteen security cameras in this garage?”

“There’s only 11! And you say that like my dad is staring at them all day long.”

“Right. He probably pays someone for that,” Wade corrected himself, picking up his backpack. “Fine, you know him, we’ll do this your way. Hold my hand! We’re dating!”

Maybe the clothes were ample repayment for how well Wade could play a part. Peter took his hand, linking their fingers together, and tugged him into the elevator.

“Welcome home, Peter,” a voice called cheerfully as they entered.

“Who— What— Why in the hell is the elevator talking to you?” Wade’s grip on Peter’s hand tightened, eyes wide with confusion.

“The elevator isn’t talking, JARVIS is,” Peter explained. “JARVIS is an AI my dad designed when I was young. He keeps tabs on everyone, and is a personal assistant. I think of him more like family.”

“The feeling is mutual, Peter,” JARVIS quipped warmly. “Is this the boyfriend Sir and Steve have been waiting to meet?”

“Who’s Sir?” Wade whined in confusion.

Peter ignored his question, nodding out of habit toward the sound of JARVIS’ voice. “This is Wade Wilson, my… boyfriend.”

“How might I address you, Wade Wilson?” JARVIS prompted.  
  
  
Wade looked at Peter, who shrugged in response. “Just, uh, Wade. Thank you— JARVIS.” With a shake of his head, Wade studied the ceiling, probably investigating for a hidden speaker. “This will take some getting used to.”

“It’s only for a week,” Peter reminded him. “Besides, you get used to someone who’s omnipresent.”

“He’s everywhere?” Wade whispered.  
  
  
“Wade. JARVIS can hear you.”

“Aw hell, Pete, now I look like a jackass!”

 

* * *

 

There were worse times for the elevator doors to open. Still, Peter filed this exact moment under “Inopportune First Impressions,” right behind the folder for “Things I Didn’t Need to Happen.” JARVIS had failed to mention that both of his dads were standing right outside the elevator, prepared to ambush Peter’s (assumed) boyfriend.

And the first thing they heard out of Wade Wilson’s mouth just had to be “now I look like a jackass.” Naturally.  
  
  
“Peter.” Tony’s arms were folded, his posture stiff already. Steve’s hand was resting on his neck, but Tony rolled his shoulders to shake him off. “And you must be the boyfriend.” A pointed glare at their laced hands.

“Wade Wilson, sir.” To his credit, Wade looked utterly unaffected, letting go of Peter’s hand to square his shoulders and offer a hand to Tony. “You must be Peter’s dads!”

Steve, ever polite, reached out to meet Wade’s offered hand. “Not genetically, but I think I still count as a dad.”

“Steven, it’s been 14 years,” Tony huffed, ignoring Wade’s handshake. “Alright, Wade. I’ll spare you the lecture bullshit, because I frankly don’t have the attention span. Let’s keep this short. Don’t fuck with my son and I won’t have to fuck with you. Are we clear?”

Wade dropped Steve’s hand, turning a fair shade of pink and tucking both hands into the pockets of those damn pants. Peter held his breath, wondering if this was his dad’s acceptance, or if he was only just getting started. Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting impatiently for acknowledgement.

Wade managed a nod. “I care about him too much to fuck this up.” He must’ve realized what he had just done, kicking a toe into the tile. “Shit. I didn’t mean to swear. Ah, hell, I just did it again. Can I start over?”

“Let me start, then,” Tony implored. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Peter caught Steve’s sympathetic gaze, the message there clear: this was going to be a long week.

 

* * *

 

The first day was awkward.

The second day left Steve to play referee for a heated debate between Tony and Wade over the proper way to order a hot dog when they all went for a walk. Tony only believed in sauerkraut and mustard, while Wade was insistent on the necessity of chili. After ten minutes, Steve told them both to “shut the hell up and order,” leaving Peter to stifle giggles under his breath.

Nothing prepared Peter for the fourth day.

Wade had been agreeable about sleeping on the loveseat, impressing Tony and surprising Peter. That didn’t stop him from sitting at the foot of Peter’s bed talking late into the night, a trend Peter had grown used to in their shared space. Without the sound of Wade’s snores, it was difficult to sleep.  
  
It still didn’t explain why, when Wade stood to take his leave in the living room, Peter caught his hand. “Stay.”

Wavering, Wade held Peter’s gaze, the waters murky within the sound of a single word. “Peter, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Peter demanded, tugging at Wade’s arm to draw him back. “What shouldn’t I do?”

Relenting, Wade sat down, his thigh pressed against Peter’s. “Don’t go pissin’ off your dad on my account. The couch is—”

“This isn’t about my dad,” Peter murmured, sitting up against the headboard. “I can’t sleep.”

Wade dropped his eyes, the intimacy of their proximity weighing on him. Peter’s leg was warm against his. Sleeping in boxers was normal in their dorm. But sitting, pressed close enough that the warmth of another body was sending chills down his arms, wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “You will, if I get out of your hair,” he offered lightly. Wade scratched at his neck, still unable to look Peter in the eye.

“It’s too quiet.” Peter voice was gravely with grogginess, leaving his sentence coming out more like a come-on than a statement. “We share a room. I’m used to it.”

“A room,” Wade sighed. “Not a bed.”

“What, are you scared I’ll bite?” Peter laughed.

“Maybe you should be scared I will,” Wade countered. If he could lighten the mood, maybe this would all be easier to forget in the morning.

“What if I wouldn’t mind?”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he had done. Peter froze, mouth still open, with his eyes trained on Wade’s face. _This is going to ruin everything,_ Peter thought.

But it was Wade who responded on instinct, or impulse, with his mouth on Peter’s neck and teeth sinking into skin before he could second guess it. _This is going to ruin everything,_ Wade’s conscious screamed. _I know,_ he countered, _but at least I’ll know what it could have been._

Peter drug Wade into his lap, hands slipping clumsily up Wade’s waist until he was gripping with fervor. The heat of Wade’s mouth was all Peter could focus on, his back arching in response and a quiet moan teased from his mouth as Wade tugged at his adam’s apple.

_Wade._ Wade was touching him. _And I don’t want him to stop._

“I won’t,” Wade growled into Peter’s neck. “Not unless you tell me to.”

Oh. So that hadn’t been in his head at all.

Slipping his hands to Wade’s face, Peter tugged at his chin, pulling him upwards just enough to meet the crash of Peter’s lips. There wasn’t anything left to say, and Peter was sure Wade’s talents with his mouth weren’t limited to words. It was exciting, being here, sandwiched between Wade’s chest and the headboard, when only minutes ago Peter wasn’t even sure he could muster the courage to spit out that one word.

“Stay,” he couldn’t keep from saying once more, into Wade’s mouth.

  
Wade pulled back just enough to look at Peter, _really_ look at him, with both hands still fisting Peter’s shirt. “I won’t leave.” It was a promise he knew he could keep. “Not until you make me go.”


End file.
